Re-Discovering The Morning
A prayer of gratitude
Today, before the sun had risen in the east, I walked westward towards the setting Super Harvest Moon. The amber light shined through the filtering clouds and I could sense the arrival of a brand new day. In the east, a subtle dim glow had begun to emerge. The crickets still chirped in the darkness and a few nocturnal critters still scuffled about.
How have I missed so many of these moments?
Since I’ve gotten sober, I have witnessed a few hundred sunrises in a row. Each providing me an opportunity to reflect on my journey through life. Each providing me an opportunity to practice gratitude for my life, my gifts, my opportunities, the love that I receive. Each welcoming me into the day.
The morning is the most magical time of day. It offers us more than any other time. There’s a newness, the sense of a fresh start, a beginning that ensures we are part of the cycle of life. We can witness the transition from night to day and this creates a magical transaction in our brain, to reset our circadian rhythm and align us with the natural cycles of life.
I’m mourning my previous self. He slept in. He hid under the covers. He was afraid to face the day. Bored. Tired. Sick. It was the night he lived for. The dark and tempting night. The land of the zombies. Of the haunt. Of ghouls. He needed a long sluggish morning to detoxify from the night before. Never to witness a sunrise, unless on accident. It wasn’t until late day, when his body had purged from poor choices that he came alive again to restart the cycle of dying a slow and painful death, once again.
I argue it is not the nighttime to come alive. It’s the gentle morning. It’s the slow, steady sunrise that encourages optimism and hope. Come alive with me in the morning. Share the sweet morning air. Rejoice. We are alive. Another day, another sober day to celebrate our time on earth. Rejoice.
I’m mourning the mornings that I’ve missed.
